Chapter Text
The first thing he notices when he wakes up is how hard his head is throbbing. It feels like a million jackhammers are pounding their way into his brain, and part of him wonders just what happened for him to have such a headache. It’s only when he tries to move that he remembers last night. Every bone in his body is screaming as he tries to move, and he can feel the dried blood on his neck and stuck in his hair. A shower would be nice right about now, but opening his eyes might be a better start.
A light under the door seems to be the only source of illumination in the room, making it hard to judge the surroundings. They aren’t what he’s expecting to see at all, and it’s only when he moves that he feels the weight against his wrists and ankles. From what he can tell, his hands are shackled to the ceiling, wrists hanging well above his head and he's not surprised to see his feet are chained to the floor as well. Whatever group of villains has managed to capture him, it’s certain they knew what they were doing with a pro hero in their midst. It turns out that pulling against the restraints doesn’t seem to help much either, only causing them to grow tighter around the enclosed areas. Is this some kind of quirk?
Eventually he picks up on voices and moving shadows outside. It’s hard to focus on what they’re saying though; the ache in his skull not giving way to let him think and process properly. Regardless, he prepares himself for the onslaught he might face as the door begins to creak open.
He’s squinting- the light outside is pretty bright- but trying very hard to see as it’s the first time he’s managed to get a good look at the room. It’s wide, and there’s pillars around him that seem almost like they could crumble at any minute, cracked and missing small chunks. Stagnant puddles can be seen on the ground as well, and it’s enough for him to deduce that they’re at least underground somewhere- be it in the sewer system or somewhere else he’s not entirely sure yet.
“Aizawa Shouta.” A voice snaps him out of his thoughts, gaze traveling towards the speaking figure. He’s tall, masked, and undeniably enjoying seeing the hero locked up if the lilt in his voice is anything to go by. The scowl on Shouta’s face is more than enough to say he doesn’t feel the same.“Oh, come now, don’t look so angry. I’m not here to harm you. At least,” someone pulls up a stool, allowing the man to sit as lights come up around him. “as long as you cooperate I’m not.”
Shouta isn’t planning on being open with him, no matter what offer he’s given. It isn’t like he’s not used to being in danger, so whatever he wants him to cooperate with will be easy to say no to. When he doesn’t give a response, the man before him laughs and holds up a hand as if to stop him from speaking despite the silence in the room. “Ah, wait, I’m sorry- I haven’t introduced myself!” He stands, the long black trench coat draping his shoulders flowing out behind him as he gestures towards his captive. “Of course, you know I already know you. You’re the erasure hero, the biggest threat to those without mutation based quirks. I, on the other hand,” The man gets close and Shouta instinctively activates his quirk, but the attack he’s waiting for doesn’t come It’s obvious this has amused him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, no doubt from a menacing grin beneath the mask he wears. “I am Delusion.” Shouta tries almost desperately to follow him with his gaze as the newly named man darts around to his back, but for once his speed isn’t enough. The hand is already on his back before he can look, and the pain that courses through him is worse than anything he’s felt in a long time.
“This,” Delusion proclaims, digging his hand deeper into his back as Shouta groans, “Is what being burned alive feels like. Now, you didn’t necessarily do this yourself. But you know who did?” He removes his hand and his prisoner gasps for air, eyes stinging from the pain. Fingers find their way into his hair,yanking his head upwards and forcing him to look his attacker in the eyes. His gaze is unchanging as he watches Delusion pull down his coat and shirt around his shoulder. “I did.” He speaks in a whisper, and those two words hold more venom in them than he’d ever though there could be before, as if this was somehow Shouta’s fault.
The scar itself is gruesome, looking only recently healed. Red and irritated, it paints his skin in uneven patches, almost looking as if the muscle itself is showing. “You know, it’s one thing being a civilian, but it’s another to be actively left behind in the midst of a heroic sacrifice. Its another to survive that sacrifice.” When it seems like no one else is going to speak, Delusion finally stands, throwing Shouta backwards as much as the clasps will allow. Pulling up his shirt, he paces back towards the door speaking in a low voice that Shouta has to strain his ears to hear, still barely managing to catch the “and don’t disturb us.” thats spoken at the end. Those who are in the room exit, and there seems to be a brief hand off between Delusion and another cohort before they're left alone together.
His captor returns, long fingers running through short blond hair. “Now let’s have a little chat, you and me, yeah?” Delusion pulls out a long black cloth, starting to reach- obviously intending to wrap it around Shouta’s eyes- and his instincts immediately kick in. He’s thrashing, trying to make it so the material can’t be tied, and he can feel the other man getting more frustrated with him every dodge that he makes. It’s not long before Shouta starts coughing and he finally realizes that there’s gas forming around him. He hadn’t even noticed- was he this distracted by everything going on? Delusion sighs as he watches and its also then that he notices his captor no longer had on his original mask, but now a gasmask, seeming to have planned this much more than Shouta had previously thought. Attempting to hold his breath he continues to resist until his lungs scream for air and he has to breath. The gas itself works quick, and he can feel his limbs going numb and heavy, forcing him to give up any resistance rather fast.
Once he’s gone still he sees the cloth approaching his face, and it's not long before his world is reduced to darkness. “See, you didn’t have to make that so complicated.” Shouta sneers, and he hears the chuckle from Delusion ringing from the mask somewhere in front of him. “All I want from you are a few answers, Eraserhead. You can do that can’t you?” He keeps his mouth firmly shut, but that doesn't seem to sway any opinions here as he feels a hand grab his forearm tightly. “Now, let’s begin. What security measures do the UA dormitories have?”
Shouta’s mouth stays shut, brows drawn together in an obvious defiance. The hand on his arm isn’t amused at all, and suddenly he can feel the bones it's gripped onto beginning to break and rip through the skin- his arm itself hasn’t moved though which is an obvious giveaway of this deception. Yet, despite knowing it all, it feels so genuine that it startles a yell out of him. The voice in his ear is cool and calm as he flinches against the hand and bindings. “That’s better. Let’s try this again then shall we?”
For what feels like hours, he’s continuously prodded and attacked, pain coursing through all of his body as he’s asked question after question- all of them being refused answer. He’s sure he’s bitten through his lip at some point during this, the taste of blood in his mouth there to let him know it’s real. After what feels like forever, they finally seem to give up on this method, leaving him to fend for himself as he deals with the aftermath of the attacks. The blindfold, however, remains on. “Maybe it’ll be better to be blind for a while. Might teach you a lesson.” Panic shoots through him again but he tries not to let it show, though his heavy breathing and sweat soaked body from the intense torment he’d just gone through seem to offer no help. After all this commotion, it’s not surprising that he passes out shortly after.
“Shouta.” A voice calls to him as he stands in front of the couch, fists balled at his side.“What did I tell you about using that piece of shit you call a quirk on me?” His hands tremble as he watches the heavy feet move towards him, boots stopping just in front of him. Upon no answer, a hand strikes at his cheek with a hard resounding slap. “You will answer me when you are spoken to!”
He doesn’t move from his spot, but a short response manages to leave his mouth. “Yes, sir.”
There’s a hum, and a hand reaches to grab his face, holding his jaw tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “Look at you. Such a pity that we had to have this disappointment. Can’t even get into that precious hero course you want so much.” Wrathful gray eyes stare back into his own, full of disgust for his own child. “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again: you’ll never make it as a hero when you’re so fucking worhless. Really, what were you expecting?” The hand releases as he shoves him back just slightly, enough to knock him off balance and he barely keeps from landing on the floor, hands steadying himself where he stands.
“Don’t you ever use that quirk on me in this house.” The boots turn and leave and he looks up to see his father's back is heading out the door- but not before looking back one last time at him. “Or else, you won’t get to see your whore mother alive again.”
When he comes to, he’s not sure he’s really awake, given he’s still blindfolded. A few quick movements help him in confirming that it was a dream, and relief flows through his body. Memories like those haven’t passed through his mind in years, yet here they were, being relived as nightmares while in captivity. Fitting, he thinks, taking a deep breath and moving his limbs enough to take the ache out of his joints from sleeping while standing.
It’s not long after he’s woken up that he hears the door squeak open and footsteps enter- more than one pair, from what he’s hearing. “Eraser! I see your consciousness has returned.” He feels hands reach for his shoulders, a painful pulse running through them right to his chest. “Now,” the voice is quiet yet holds the steady warning of what could happen if he doesn’t talk. “Let's try this again, shall we?”